


Stronger

by Vince_ible



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Uprising
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst galore, But Able is alive because I said so, Clu: Public execution? Amateur. More like public rectification., Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I feel legitimately awful for writing this, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi-POV, No plot just pain, Post-Episode: s03e13 Terminal, Public Humiliation, Rectification, Repurposing, Rinzler!Beck, eventually, jumps around time a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vince_ible/pseuds/Vince_ible
Summary: Clu's arrival to Argon causes a chain reaction: Beck is captured, the location of the lookout is compromised, and the occupation gains an asset.
Relationships: Beck (Tron)/Paige (Tron)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 43





	1. Beck

Logically, Beck had always known that his luck would run out eventually.

But then again, he'd never afforded much thought to "logic".

The back of the transit unit opened with a flood of light. Beck shied from it, unaccustomed to the brightness after cycles spent in a cell. Forgetting that his hands were cuffed, he tried to shield his eyes, and received a harsh yank for his trouble.

After a few nanos his eyes started to adjust. In front of him, a guard held a long glowing cord, the other end of which was attached to his cuffs. Two other guards stood at either shoulder, silent and stern. Beck took an unsteady step and squinted at the outside world. He recognized the location within moments.

_Argon Square._

How fitting, for it to end here.

The surrounding buildings were as familiar to him as Able's garage. How many cycles had he spent here, loitering with friends, goofing off after a grueling shift? Those times felt far behind him, now. The billboards projected occupation propaganda, and instead of pleasant chatter, Beck heard hushed whispers. Every foot of the square was packed with programs, military and civilian alike. Beck cowered from the concentrated ogling of thousands of curious faces.

Clu's voice carried over the crowd like a looming thunderhead. "Programs of Argon, it is my honour to introduce you to your dear _Renegade_."

Despite himself, Beck strained to find the source of the voice. Defiance streaked through him before swiftly dying. He'd had a couple of conversations with Clu in his cell. None of them had been particularly enjoyable.

It didn't take long to spot him. The robe he wore was unmistakable.

Situated at the far end of the square was a sizeable stage, bathed in gold light and ringed by recognizers. Clu was atop it, poised on a dais and flanked by high-ranking soldiers. There was something else that Beck could just barely espy—a transparent structure in front of the stage. Dread washed over him as he recognized it.

 _Mobile Repurposing Unit_ , he thought.

Clu continued to speak, but Beck was only half-listening.

"In the past, the late General Tesler has seen fit to make examples through violence. I have opted toward the path of mercy."

"All this, for me?" Beck mumbled under his breath. He was almost flattered.

Overhearing him, the guard on his left nudged his shoulder with his staff. Beck barely hid his flinch. Prompted by another tug on his cuffs, he began to move.

Beck and his escorts marched like a sombre parade. Sentries paved and fenced a path through the crowd with their bodies, and it was this path that Beck trod. He walked willingly, feet dragging with exhaustion rather than resistance. Any _real_ resistance he'd once possessed had been beaten out of him long ago. All he had left was his secret sarcasms.

In a way, his own, private struggle mirrored that of the city. Argon's citizens were a timid and downtrodden lot. The spark of rebellion that Beck had seen on the ruins of Cutler's recognizer was gone, snuffed out by Clu's more _brutal_ methods. Now there was only compliance, complaisance, and submission. Systematic bombings and abductions tended to do that to a population.

"Tron or not, the Renegade deserves a certain degree of respect. He has acted out of a sense of responsibility—twisted, yes, but one must admire his intentions."

Garbed in the Renegade's white circuits, and with his face laid bare, Beck had never felt more exposed. Dreary eyes probed him from all angles. If there was a hint of protest, no one voiced it. All the while, Clu's voice droned on. Beck drowned out his speech by mentally cataloguing light cycle models.

 _Users_ , he missed fiddling with a finicky light bike...

"We all have our own talents, talents that we must yield to the system if we are to make the Grid great."

The foremost guard paused to tug impatiently on the line, and they proceeded onward, their pace brisker than before. Beck kept his head down for fear of seeing a familiar face. More than anything, he hoped that Able, Zed, Mara, and the rest were back at the garage. The last thing he wanted was them seeing this.

And Tron...

Beck was torn on the matter of his mentor. He knew that this show was just as much for Tron as it was for Argon. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it was designed _specifically_ with Tron in mind. If Tron made a rescue attempt, he'd be playing right into Clu's hands. Even so, Beck wanted nothing more than to see the old program atop the ramparts, swooping in to save the day.

Assuming he was still _alive_...

...It was a desperate, foolish hope. But it was the only one he had.

"-This program may be an imposter, he may be imperfect, but like all of us, he holds _potential_."

As they got closer to the podium, Beck could make out the form of Commander Paige. Even now, she was painfully beautiful. She looked deliberately in the opposite direction, her hair shrouding her expression. Beck tried to meet her gaze, tried to project memories of dramatic freefalls, peaceful views, and carefree games.

Surely some of that had _meant_ something to her?

"-I bring him before you now, as proof that even the most volatile of programs are capable of enlightenment." Clu's concluding words were succeeded by a chorus of cheers, mostly from his own sentries.

At last, they came to a stop.

Beck stood in the shadow of an enormous chamber. It was a glass cylinder, at least three inches thick, and stretching multiple metres. At its top sat the rectification device itself, small and unassuming. A square opening appeared in its side, as if the glass was nothing more than an illusion. A chill ran through Beck's code.

Up until now, he'd been acting on the lessons he'd learned in his cell: fighting was useless, the occupation was crueler than he could've ever imagined, and it was impossible to fight Clu on his own. He'd accepted these facts, horrible as they were, because they'd kept him _alive._ Self-preservation had taught him to retreat into himself and ignore the horrors on the horizon.

But now that he was here, _in front of it_...

Something desperate and defiant sparked through Beck's circuits. It was the same spark that had made him blow up Clu's statue, the same spark that had driven him to Tron, over and over again, and the same spark that had led him to _this_. He clenched his teeth with sudden, nervous resolve.

He could NOT end up like Cutler.

Beck tensed his torso and heaved with all his strength and weight. The cord went taut and the guard holding it was wrenched off his feet. He fell flat on his face. Scattered gasps snaked through the crowd.

One of the guards overcame his shock and slammed into Beck from behind. Beck barely registered the blow. He braced his arms, spun on his heel, and hurled both fists into the guard's neck. Less than a nano later, he was knocked aside by the second guard.

Even more sentries streamed from their posts to help. Beck fought as best as he could, but there were too many. Someone else retrieved the fallen cord, and he had to lean back from the force of their heaves. He was being buffeted by fists, stung by staffs, pushed and pulled ever closer to the repurposing unit. The entrance yawned in front of him like a waiting mouth. Shakily, Beck's eyes left it to land on the spectators.

" _Help_ me!" Beck cried, but his plea was met only with hard stares and sympathetic winces. There were even a few jeers, speckled here or there, their volume amplified by the surrounding silence. Each one stabbed Beck to the core.

Where was Tron when he needed him?

Someone flung him forwards and Beck stumbled headfirst into the tube.

The instant he crossed the threshold, something _changed_. In spite of himself, Beck began to calm. His processes were still racing and his ears were still pounding, but his limbs were reluctant to respond. The light cuffs dissolved into nothing. He sprang around, too slow, and slammed a sleeping hand against seamless glass.

_Trapped._

Suddenly Beck was petrified. He trembled in place, his mind shrieking commands to a disconnected body. When he finally moved, it was not of his own will. Guided by an influence beyond his own, he shuffled to the centre of the chamber.

There was a beat of silence. Then, Beck felt his disc leave its dock. It rose above his head and hovered like a halo. Sluggishly, he lifted his arms, as if to embrace the disc and the change it promised. Unseen and unheard, Beck was screaming, a passenger in his own body. Or worse, a _prisoner_.

**_DATA REMOVAL COMMENCING._ **

The cool voice in Beck's head could've been pleasant, if not for what followed. Nausea curled in Beck's gut as his processes slowed down. Never before had he grappled with so many overlapping errors. Warning prompts began to pile on top of each other until they utterly consumed his visuals.

It felt like a grate had opened beneath his memory, allowing files to trickle through at an alarming rate. Beck forced himself to _focus_ through the fear. He'd been a stray once before—he knew how to coach himself through memory loss. He latched onto facets of his identity like they were lifelines, selecting core aspects that he knew for certain.

He _would_ survive this intact.

_My name is Beck. I'm a mechanic. I work at Able's garage._

**_BASE CODE COMPROMISED. DIRECTIVE: DAT... RE...PAIR..._ **

_My name is Beck. I live in Argon. My best friends are Zed and Ma-_

A wave of pain crashed over his thoughts, driving each one into hiding. Liquid energy welled in his eyes without warning. He tried to blink it away, but his lids were locked. He tried to scream, but only succeeded in a shrill, strangled squeak. Tears streaked across his skin in unimpeded rivulets and his facial muscles twitched from random spasms.

If this was mercy, then he would've preferred the execution.

 _My. Name. Is._ Beck. _I was trained by Tr-_

**_PRIMARY AUTHORITY: C ~~ODIFIED~~ L ~~IKENESS~~ U ~~TILITY.~~_ **

No, no that couldn't be right-

_**DIRECTIVE: PROGRAM DELETION.** _

_My..._ _name...?_

**_CORRUPTION, RE-REPAIR..._ **

Who was he again?

**_REPAIR...?_ **

The program shivered as his gridsuit shifted colours. The carapace oozed black until it was unrecognizable. None of its former white remained. Light lines bled away, or else, bled _red_. A _'T'_ -shaped tetromino glowed angrily against his chest. For whatever reason, Clu had allowed him to keep the emblem. As a final touch, a helmet closed over his head like a cage. The program's eyes rolled back in their sockets, error message after error message flashing in his mind.

**_REBOOTING, REBOOTING, RE-RE-BOOT-T-_ **

A purr rumbled in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: Some fanart that deserves to be showcased. https://quantum27.tumblr.com/post/638352322415755264/something-something-angst  
> The title to this fic is taken from the very edgy remix that inspired it. (https://youtu.be/pqYWDvV0I28) (Prismo - Stronger (Raiko Remix))
> 
> Rinzler!Beck is not at all a new idea in the Trondom but I wanted to try my own hand at it. Uhh technically none of this was going to be posted until I finished Ichor, but, y'know...  
> There's 5-6 chapters planned for this (possibly more) but, yeah. We'll see 🤷 No promises.


	2. Paige

Commander Paige couldn't bear to be in the same room as Rinzler.

He seemed to haunt every step of the base. Every cranny, every corner, every corridor. He was always somewhere, sometimes seen, sometimes lurking just out of sight. The worst part was the sound. No matter how hard Paige tried to avoid it, she couldn't escape that horrible, broken _grinding_...

Everything was different now. _Wrong_.

The General's death had been the first blow. Tesler hadn't been perfect, but he'd believed in her, given her second chances where few programs would. She'd owed him _everything_. And now, he was gone.

Another change came with the sheer volume of programs on the base. Clu's reinforcements had bloated the accommodations beyond capacity. Even now, construction programs were working on expansions, and with the surplus of soldiers, Paige's command had extended by ten battalions.

She'd never been more miserable about a promotion in all her runtime.

Then her ex had turned out to be the Renegade. Paige could still remember the cycle of his capture, could still vividly recall the empty, crushing shock. She'd barely had a chance to process the news before he'd been bustled away. She'd passed his cell, once, hoping to have a word with him and unaware that Dyson was already inside. She'd heard a single, echoing scream...

For the first time in her military career, Paige had seriously considered insubordination.

She'd come to her senses later, of course. The Renegade was an enemy. Always had been. Anything between them had been fabricated, a ploy to gather intel, nothing more than a means to an end. She could see that in hindsight.

...But that didn't mean that Beck had deserved, _that_...

On top of it all, Pavel wouldn't stop gloating. _"Aw, why all the moping, Commander? I would've thought you'd be thrilled. You two are on the same side!"_ Pavel was at least partially right. Nothing was stopping them from rekindling their old relationship.

Nothing, except that Beck wasn't _Beck_ anymore.

Paige couldn't stand Pavel's palavering, and often found herself avoiding him. It was on one of those occasions that she ran across Rinzler, roaming the halls on one of his regular patrols. She watched him for a while, lost in thought, torn between retreat and approach.

In the end, her decision was made for her. Rinzler began to move in her direction and without thinking, Paige moved to the side to let him pass. His rattling growl seemed to grow with every step and his pitch-black visor was polarizing, in more than one sense of the word. Under that frightful helmet were doe eyes and a demure face. Paige could hardly believe it.

She would have to face this sooner or later, face _him_.

Gathering her courage, Paige said, "Halt."

Rinzler lurched like his foot had been caught. Robotically, he rolled back on his heels and regarded her. Paige repressed a wretched shudder.

"Is there any place in particular that you need to be, program?"

Rinzler hesitated, purr rising in distress. The pause stretched into nanos and concern clawed at Paige's core. She hadn't stopped to consider—

Could he even speak at all?

Before Paige could offer a nod or a head shake as a solution, Rinzler spoke with Beck's voice.

" _No_."

The word was guttural and disjointed, almost two syllables instead of one. It rattled along the same erratic rhythm as the one in his chest.

Paige bit her bottom lip, contemplating her next course of action. After a while, she fumbled under his chin, feeling for the pressure point that controlled his helmet. She must've found it, because the helmet retracted with a reluctant creak. She levelled her gaze at Beck's unobscured face.

 _Not Beck, **Rinzler**_ , she reminded herself.

The resemblance was uncanny, but at the same time, too twisted to _truly_ be Beck. Every feature was cold and flat. A piece of hair hung over his forehead and she resisted the inappropriate urge to brush it back. In the past, she might have.

Slowly, her hand drifted up the black plating on his chest, tracing invisible circuits. She touched the leftmost square of the tetromino and it pulsed lazily. Over time her eyes lifted to his. The brown was more amber, now, but with none of the former warmth. She searched those eyes for the flickerings of life, something that resembled emotion, _anything_. Beck inclined his head with mild interest. Nothing more.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat and quelled the stinging in her eyes.

The last part of the grieving process was acceptance.

"Carry on, soldier," she said, teeth gritted.

The helmet reformed without ceremony. Rinzler straightened, saluted, and stalked down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is moreso gonna be a series of chronological, loosely-connected oneshots than a consecutive story.


	3. Able

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally finished this before the next chapter of Ichor.  
> Anyways thanks for all the feedback on this so far!! I really appreciate it. :')
> 
> CW: Vague implications/mentions of suicide

Never before had the garage been so crowded.

It bustled with activity, both from the mechanics at their lift tables, and the soldiers pacing at their posts. Programs ducked between aisles, clutching tools to their chests and skirting around red circuitry. Ever since the incident with the crashed recognizer, they'd been placed under strict supervision. Able couldn't breathe anymore without some program jumping down his throat.

By order of Clu, they were creating a new, enhanced breed of light cycle. One hundred units by the end of this cycle. Mass producing so many vehicles was putting a strain on the whole garage, and the close surveillance wasn't doing them any favours, either, causing undue stress amongst the already-swamped mechanics. They were engineers, not factory workers, and certainly not criminals.

Or, at least, _most_ of them weren't.

Able's thoughts turned to the two young protégés near the entrance of the garage. Zed and Mara were pooling their effort into a single, unfinished cycle, more of a skeleton than a machine. Frankly, Able was surprised to see them working at all. They'd taken up the unfortunate habit of skipping shifts in Beck's absence.

Those two were up to something, and Able was already bemoaning the trouble it would bring.

He began to drift in their direction but stopped short at a rumble on his left. It was the sort of sound that made a program's skin crawl—deep, grating, and hollow. Rooted to the spot, Able's eyes swivelled to the source of the sound, landing on a dark program standing off to one side.

If Rinzler recognized the garage, he showed no signs of it.

Able had been around rectified programs before, but this went beyond regular reprogramming. Rinzler was just a shell. His rote motions and silent demeanor were chilling in a way that transcended instinct. He was everything that Beck was not.

A number of observations hit Able all at once.

Zed and Mara had set up their workstation nearby, perhaps deliberately so. Upon closer examination, there didn't seem to be any actual _work_ happening. Mara fiddled idly with the fender, muttering under her breath. Her eyes kept darting around the guard-laden garage. Cautiously, she leaned over the side of the light cycle. From far away, Able saw her mouth form a single syllable, " _Beck_."

Rinzler didn't respond.

Her mouth moved again, louder this time. "...Beck?"

His head twitched in their direction. Able quickly guessed what they were trying to do. He streaked across the overhaul floor, cursing with every step. Zed spoke loudest of all, and with a touch more urgency.

" _Beck!_ "

The third time seemed to rouse Rinzler, though not in the way either of them had expected. He drew his discs—evidently Clu had given him two _—_ and advanced.

Able reached the broken trio just in time. He shoved his body between program and prey, blocking Rinzler's path with outstretched arms. Rinzler paused, distracted, while Able jabbered desperately.

"So sorry about that. Betas these days—can't ever keep to themselves. I'll just move them somewhere else. Sorry to bother you, really-" Curbing the impulse to shout, Able wheeled on the petrified mechanics. "You two, a word in my office, _now_."

There was a quizzical lilt to Rinzler's helmet as they walked away, but he did not pursue. Zed moved like a program in retreat. He was pale, shaky, and flat-footed. Beside him, Mara was all tears and fury.

No sooner had the door closed than Mara launched into a diatribe.

"I'm going to kill Clu. I don't care if it doesn't bring Beck back. I don't care if it crashes the system. It'll make me feel better, at least," she spat. She wiped the energy away from her cheeks, almost as an afterthought. By contrast, Zed had gone very quiet and very still. Mara's shoulders shook, but her voice was steady. " _Users._ I'll kill Pavel first for bringing him here. I don't care what happens to me. I don't care. I'm going to _kill_ him."

"If you're going to kill programs please do it on your own time, not during a shift. And please be discreet about it," Able advised dryly. "And as for our friend-" He drew a breath, gathering the strength for what needed to be said next. " _Please_ don't provoke him while he's here. I know you think that that's Beck, but it's not. Not anymore."

"I can't believe you've just given up," Mara said hotly. "First Bodhi, now Beck-"

Able's replying lour was severe enough to stop her mid-tirade. "I haven't given up. I'm being realistic. You haven't interacted with rectified programs, not at length. I _have_. There is nothing, _left_."

Stubborn as ever, Mara shook her head. "I can't believe that. There has to be _something_."

Though Able privately conceded the possibility, he knew it wouldn't be prudent to encourage false hope. He'd lost too many friends already.

"If there is, then it's buried too deep to bother looking for." He swallowed, wondering if he should telling this to her at all.

Tron's grim voice echoed in his head, ' _It's like a virus..._ _Best to let them derezz.'_

Maybe the old monitor had a point. Able wasn't sure he entirely agreed, but he definitely understood. There were things far worse than death, and there were afflictions beyond the comprehension of programs. Users? Maybe. But then, the Users had forsaken the system long ago.

At the risk of sounding like Tron, he said, "Besides, programs that _do_ manage to break free, even for a moment... Well, they tend not to enjoy the experience." He drifted off, leaving the darker implication unsaid. _And sometimes,_ _they'll do anything to end it._

A vast silence spanned between them.

Mara's mouth opened and closed a few times. Then, she stormed out. Looking slightly sick, Zed trudged after her. A couple of nanos went by before Able followed, steps heavy, spine hunched.

Halfway across the overhaul floor, he ran into Pavel's sneering face. Instant disgust sparked through his circuits. The commander always delighted in tormenting the mechanics that had embarrassed him all those cycles before, and he was particularly smug this cycle, no doubt from flaunting Rinzler in their faces. Eager to be rid of him, Able tried to edge around, to no avail. Pavel matched him move for move.

"Trouble?"

"No trouble," Able answered steadily. "Just disciplining a couple employees. Your modified bikes should be completed on schedule."

Despite Able's best efforts, he was distracted by a strange noise in the background. Thoroughly disconcerted, he looked at the program behind Pavel. A black helmet stared back at him. Pavel's eyes followed Able's, an ugly smirk splitting his face.

"Poetic, isn't it? One might even say, _'perfect'_ ," said Pavel, daintily placing a hand on Rinzler's helmet. He patted it a few times, almost _petting_ , and Able's fists clenched at his sides. "I didn't realize that he'd be such a distraction for your workers, but then, I figured it might do him some good to see home, get some air-"

Just then, Rinzler began to bristle. His purr swelled in volume until it was almost a growl. Pavel's hand drew back like it'd been burned, and even Able had to take a step back. Over time, the sound grew louder and louder, reaching a dreadful apex before dying into a relaxed rumble. Pavel smoothed down his uniform in an attempt to restore some of his lost dignity, but the damage was done.

"C-carry on," he said, before all but scurrying away. After a beat, Rinzler followed suit, steps more measured than his superior's. Able watched him appraisingly.

Perhaps the repurposing hadn't been as _thorough_ as he'd thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope? Or does hatred for Pavel simply transcend repurposing.


End file.
